Mud season and liminal spaces

It's officially mud season in Vermont. Mud season is a "season between seasons," occurring between winter and spring, when the snows melt and saturate the thawing soil, creating muddy trails and roads. I live on a dirt road here, and there is already one deep divot where someone unused to driving in the mud got up a little bit too much speed and sunk in.

It's an interesting feeling for me, that as nature seems to wake up and grow, I feel myself slowing down and taking a breath. Winter is a busy season for me, and as that activity dies down, other activities ramp up and call my attention. This year especially, I find myself deeply cherishing this in between space. It feels like waking up, stretching, and then taking another moment in bed because there's nothing to do.

Our world is a hectic place, and there are more things than ever calling our attention. I am taking a cue from the seasons this month, and finding the spaciousness within this micro-season, which encourages me to both wake up and slow down at the same time. It reminds me that power doesn't have to be a burst of energy. Power can be gentle, settling, calming. In the same way that a lion spirit is not more powerful than a mouse spirit, gentle power is no less powerful.

I encourage you to pay attention to the time between time. See if you can find the gentle power in these liminal spaces. We have them every day, in the time before sunrise, in the twilight. See if you can sense the gentle power.

Lessons from the trees

In my circle in East Hartford this past month, we did a ceremony for trees. I have learned so much from trees. The tall pine trees outside my childhood home were some of my first friends.

I could go on and on sharing all the teachings I have received from the tree people--I won't do that! But there is one I would like to share in particular.

I learned from the trees on the land where I teach that trees don't have an opportunity to choose their neighbors. Their community is wherever they are planted. They don't get to move if they don't get along with their community. Instead, they make community wherever they are.

This teaching came from the trees last year, but it was pointed out to me again at this past month's journey circle. It gave me pause, as I have been experiencing distress around the amount of polarization in our communities and the amount of emotion in the air. The trees reminded me that we have a certain amount of control, yes, but that control is to find our community where we are planted. It made me so grateful for our circle, and for the other circles of which I am a member--shamanic and otherwise.

Shamanism is not a solitary pursuit--we exist in community. I am thankful for my community of humans, my community in nature, and the spirits who, in their great generosity, continue to support us as we stumble down our own paths.

The Pine Barrens

Beginning to move

This is a picture I took last year, after an icing event. I rounded the corner (on skis) and found myself in a crystal palace of trees--it was such a remarkable scene that it took by breath away. I had to stop and take a picture of the sun glinting off of the branches. The picture, of course, could not fully capture the beauty of the scene before me.

This is the time of year when the trees begin to wake up. Long before we see leaves begin to bud on their branches, their sap begins to run, below where we can see. Isn't this the way that waking up so often happens for us? We don't see visible signs of change, but we feel something in us begin to shift.

Do you feel yourself waking up? Does the sense of slowing down begin to give way to something new? I find that it does for me this time of year. The days are slightly longer, there is a bit more electricity in the air, there is more movement in my soul. I feel a desire to take up projects that were set aside in the fall, or perhaps new ones that have been brewing during the deepest part of winter.

In my circle in East Hartford this month, we will do a ceremony with and for trees. I don't know exactly what shape it will take, but I hope you will join me if you're nearby.

See if you can notice how nature moves you. Seasons are a blessing, because they allow us to flow with the cycles that are present in the world around us. What feels like it is beginning to flow for you?